


The Twelve Dates of Christmas

by krzed



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Drinking, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hate to Love, Redemption, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9061921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krzed/pseuds/krzed
Summary: When Chloe receives an invitation to Adrien and Marinette's wedding, she sees this as her last chance to win Adrien, to crush Marinette, and to have her happily ever after. Unfortunately, many forces stand between Chloe and the happy ending she desires: a red-headed artist, a conspiring peacock, and a time loop that forces her to live Christmas Eve over and over...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @gigiree's [AU](http://gigiree.tumblr.com/post/154433185055/a-twelve-dates-of-christmas-au) here.

 

First-class seats. Champagne. Food of much higher quality than what was served to those peasants in coach. Comfortable pillows. Soft blankets.

For all of these luxuries, all of these distractions, Chloé's mind still wandered to the card tucked away in her purse. The card she had received just a week prior. A disgusting black card bordered in white snowflakes and adorned with two names: the first in red and the second in green.

**You are cordially invited to a**

**WEDDING**

**joining the lives of**

**Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng**

**and**

**M. Adrien Agreste**

**to take place**

**Sunday, 1 January 2023**

**on the Champ de Mars at**

**one o'clock in the afternoon.**

**Reception to follow at the Agreste Mansion.**

When had it happened? When had that worthless baker's daughter earned the spot in Adrien's heart rightfully reserved for her? When had she started drifting away from Adrien? No, when had Adrien started drifting away from _her?_ She straightened in her seat and yanked her blanket tighter under her chin. Yes, that was it. The Cheng girl stole Adrien away from her. Adrien would never willing abandon his first and oldest friend.

As for the when, that was easy: their last year in lycée. Late June, was it? Adrien had never shown an interest in Marinette before then, but somehow, one day, they came into class, arm in arm as though they had known each other their whole lives. Grinning, blushing, sideways smiles, knowing glances as though they were privy to some inside joke and relished just how oblivious everyone else was. And the puns. _Oh god_ the puns. Adrien couldn't stop making one joke after another, all to get 'his Lady' to blush. Chloé groaned low in her throat as she kicked the blanket down to her feet. There was no way she was getting any more sleep on this flight. 'My Lady'? Seriously? Not only were they disgustingly obsessed with one another, but they had some kind of perverse superhero roleplay going on?

And if falling for each other out of nowhere, shunning her, and not shedding a single tear when she left Paris to study business in America wasn't enough, then they have the gall, _the gall,_ to invite her to their wedding. A phone call to Adrien confirmed that he wanted to finally smooth things over between them. To mend broken bonds. At the time, Chloé only saw this as an opportunity to rub their relationship in her face. She had absolutely no intention of attending the wedding.

So, why had she deigned to return to Paris, to see her home for the first time in over four years? Well, she was long overdue to spend a Christmas with her father, who had decided to offer her an assistant manager position at his hotel as a gift. She snorted at the idea. Sure, responsibility she didn't want was an _amazing_ Christmas present. At least it was better than her present to him: telling him that, though she had earned her degree in business management, even graduated _magna cum laude,_ she had no interest in taking over the hotel. Ah yes. Nothing quite screams holiday spirit like crushing disappointment.

Chloé also saw this wedding invitation as her last chance to make Adrien see reason. Marinette had won several design competitions through collége and lycée, so her interest in the subject was no mystery. The true mystery was how she had blinded Adrien so. She was obviously using his connections, his influence, and (after the first of the new year) his very _name_ to get a leg up in that cut-throat industry. She was nothing but a leech, a tick, a slimy parasite who didn't truly understand him or appreciate him. Not like Chloé. Chloé would speak with him, make him realize just how toxic Marinette was, then they would be together, just as fate intended.

...but would that be what Adrien wanted? Did Adrien want to be with her? If he did, then why had he chosen Marinette? Why had they not spoken save for a few exchanged pleasantries around this time of year? These thoughts had made her agonize the last week over whether or not she truly wanted to go home, to attend this ridiculous wedding. After several days of internal debate, she finally flicked her thumb across her phone and booked her flight. Marinette had obviously either bribed, blackmailed, or seduced him somehow. A lifetime of free croissants from her family's bakery. Photos of him having an illicit affair with one of Paris' five heroes.

Kinky Ancient Chinese sex techniques.

And that's how Chloé found herself on a thirteen hour flight from Los Angeles to Paris, with a two hour layover in New York before making the hop across the Atlantic. Fifteen hours crammed in a box (as comfortable as first-class was, it still felt stifling and enclosed) that would put her in Paris just before midnight on December 23th. Yes, over a week before the wedding because she would need that time to talk sense into Adrien.

A rough final entry, a minute of stretching limbs and limping on a foot that had fallen asleep somewhere over Bermuda, and a lengthy, lethargic trudge through the terminal brought Chloé to baggage claim and M. Barbiche, her old butler and caretaker, holding a sign with her name on it. The lingering taste of champagne soured in her mouth. Leave it to her father to send someone else to pick her up. Never mind they hadn't seen each other in four years, save for Skyping on holidays and their birthdays.

During the lengthy limo ride from the airport to Le Grand Paris, M. Barbiche informed her that her father wouldn't be able to see her until breakfast the next morning. Just add that to the string of 'shocks' Chloé had received in the last week. Not that she cared. Not that she had the patience for endless questions about her studies, her plans for the future, 'when will _you_ get married?' Chloé slumped sideways in her seat, gazing out at the blurred lines and lights of the city as it passed her by. The drove on and soon, thin lines of white cut through her view. Snow. Perhaps Paris would have a snowy Christmas this year.

M. Barbiche helped her drag her bags to her old room at the highest floor. He flicked the lights on, rolled her luggage inside, and backed out of the room with a bow and little more than, “Good night, Mlle. Bourgeois.” Chloé stood in the foyer and ran her eyes over the only bedroom she'd known her entire childhood. Furniture dusted, bed linens changed, pillows fluffed. Despite the warm colors in the room, it had never before felt so cold. Such a large room, so different from the apartment she shared with her friend and fellow Business Major, Melissa. Chloé would never admit it, but she had grown to enjoy the warmth and intimacy of a smaller space.

Chloé unpacked only what she would need to survive the night. It was already past midnight and jet lag was steadily catching up to her. She pulled on her red silk Ladybug pajamas (some things never change), let her hair down, and set an alarm on her phone for nine the next morning. Plenty of time to rest before meeting her father for breakfast. Slumber found her swiftly, setting in just seconds after her head met her familiar down pillows.

On the other side of the city, a pair of amber eyes rimmed by a forest green mask began to glow.


	2. Date 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains character death.

_Wanna learn how to believe again_  
_Find the innocence in me again_  
_Through your young heart_  
_Help me find a way, help me try_

Chloé blindly swatted at her phone as it buzzed across her night stand. She lifted it to her face and blinked at it. 'Christmas Through Your Eyes' by Gloria Estefan. When had she set _that_ as her alarm tone? It was a good song, just...not one she usually listened to around the holidays. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure she'd downloaded it to her phone, let alone set it as her alarm. She shrugged, thinking maybe there was a new update on her phone that set random Christmas songs as ringtones or alarms. No matter. She had more important things to attend to like...

Like putting her plan into action. As she brushed her hair and applied her make-up for the day, she ran over what she would say to Adrien. Marinette was only using him for his name and once Cheng Fashions (or whatever she was calling it) had flourished, she would dump him like a sack of flour. His only avenue for happiness was to abandon that pigtail-wearing, dough-kneading, soul-sucking trollop and join someone with actual means. Someone who knew Adrien resented his father and could take him away from the world of high fashion and modeling rather than drag him back in.

Chloé sneered in the middle of getting dressed. Marinette. Always so talented. Always so charismatic. So lucky. So loved. And she made it look so easy! It had to be something she'd mixed in with the cookies she brought to class at the beginning of every year. Brainwashed everyone into wanting to be friends with the useless daughter of a baker rather than the glamorous daughter of the mayor. Who wouldn't want to befriend someone of status like her? Who wouldn't want to do her homework and secure a place at her side? Who wouldn't want to garner the favor of the one woman who had the city in her pocket? No one in Mme. Bustier's class, that's for certain. She shrugged. At least she had Sabrina.

Had...

_'You are easily the worst person I've ever met!'_

...must have been one of those brainwashing cookies.

Chloé tied back her hair with a bit more force than she had intended. The restrained strands tugged at her scalp, but she didn't care. Such were the sacrifices made for beauty. She picked out her most expensive white winter coat and a purse to match, then made her way down the hallway to the elevators. In between the rhythmic beats of her boots tapping against the carpet, she could barely make out the music coming from the speaker overhead. She cocked her head to the side and listened. It was...an instrumental version of the song playing on her phone. She rolled her eyes. Hopefully this was just 'Red Car Syndrome' and that song wouldn't be stalking her throughout the next week.

If one were asked how well André Bourgeois had aged in the past seven years, one would be answered with an emphatic 'meh'. His receding hairline had ordered a full retreat and his already salt and pepper hair was now just as salty as his daughter. The lines on his face had succumbed to gravity's siren song and he looked every bit the fifty-year-old man he was, but he had just as much energy as he ever did. It seemed losing the last election about a year previous had done wonders for his health, and for the well-being of his hotel and the staff. A shame the same couldn't be said of his relationship with his daughter.

He had tried to give Chloé everything, and when she had asked for space to study in America, he had allowed it. He hadn't even fought or argued over why she wanted to continue her education over nine thousand kilometers away with no guarantees that she would visit on holidays (which she hadn't). They had, however, promised to call each other once a week, but once a week became every other week became once a month became holidays and birthdays and nothing more. When Chloé stepped out of the elevator and made her way to the hotel's dining room, she had hoped for a joyous reunion. A warm smile, a hug, maybe even tears. But the look André wore on his face was that of a man who had just seen his only child yesterday and not gone nearly four years without being in the same room as her. He didn't even stand when she approached their table, simply smiled his fake politician's smile and gestured to the vacant chair across from him.

“So good to see you doing well, Chloé,” he said. Chloé sniffed at his assumption that she was 'well', but offered up a smile just as counterfeit as his.

“Of course, Daddy. What did you expect?”

“I certainly didn't expect you to come home for Christmas this year. What made you change your mind?”

 _'Saving the love of my life from a succubus, nothing new.'_ “Adrien and Ma–” her tongue swelled in her mouth at the girl's name. She cleared her throat and snapped her fingers at a server to fetch a glass of water. “–Marinette are getting married.”

“Ah, yes!” André's eyes lit up in a way that made Chloé jealous. “I'm well aware of the impending nuptials. They came to me almost a year ago requesting my kitchen staff to cater the event. They even asked for Marlena by name.”

Chloé gritted her teeth at the realization that her father was facilitating this madness. “I received the invitation just last week. A little last minute I know, but classes had just let out for the winter, so I cleared my schedule and made my travel arrangements.” She shrugged and snatched the full glass of water from the server's hand. “It's for Adrien, after all.”

“You haven't finished with classes yet?” André inquired. “I thought with your schedule you would have finished just a few weeks ago.”

“One of my teachers got fired for propositioning a student,” Chloé said before she took a sip of her water. “I have to wait until they can find a suitable replacement before I can finish my degree.”

A half lie. Mr. Browning had indeed been fired for propositioning a student, and that student was currently sitting in a Paris hotel contemplating how best to sabotage a wedding. However, the school had found a replacement teacher immediately, but Chloé wasn't about to tell her father that the issue keeping her away from Le Grand Paris wasn't an unfinished business degree, but the plain and simple fact that she didn't want to run a hotel for the rest of her life.

“They're not expecting me to pay them more, are they?”

_'I tell you I got stuck in a class with a sexual deviant and your first concern is your bank account. No, no Daddy, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I wasn't bothered by the middle-aged loser curious as to whether or not 'blondes have more fun', so you can go ahead and worry about your checkbook. I'm. Just. **Peachy**.'_

Despite her internal rant, her external composure held. “You won't have to spend another cent on my education, Daddy.”

“Splendid!” He must have seen something over Chloé's shoulder because his eyes brightened up. “Ah, breakfast is served! I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of ordering Eggs Benedict for you. I remember you mentioned craving the dish earlier this year.”

 _'It was early_ last _year, Daddy. And not that I'd ever tell you, but after tongue kissing a bottle of Jose Cuervo and puking up breakfast last Christmas, even the smell of eggs makes me sick.'_

“I'm actually not that hungry,” she lied. Something on her stomach would have done her wonders, but she found her skin itching just at her father's presence. “It's been nice catching up with you, Daddy, but if it's all the same to yo–”

As Chloé stood, her chair pushed backwards behind her. She heard the chair legs scuff on the hardwood floor, felt the chair pitch to her left with her legs, and felt something warm and wet spill down her back. Her shoulders hitched upwards, her face froze in a disgusted grimace, and she slowly turned to see a server on her knees staring up at the heiress in abject horror. Chloé noticed her seat was coated in a viscous, pale yellow sauce and knew, just _knew_ , that the same sauce now stained the back of her coat.

“I-I-I'm s-so sorry, Mlle. Bourgeois!” the server stuttered. “I'll have this cleaned up in–”

“Hollandaise!” Chloe shrieked. “You spilled hollandaise on an Agreste original winter coat! You won't have this cleaned up anytime soon, because this jacket is _ruined!_ Y-you! _You!_ ” Chloé whipped her head towards her father and jabbed a finger in the now whimpering girl's face. “Fire her!”

“Chloé, dearest,” André attempted to soothe as he rose from his own chair. “It was an accident, I'm sure. And I'll buy you a new coat, I promise.” He began to rest his arm across his daughter's shoulders, but pulled away at the sight of the sauce oozing across her collar. “Call, uh, call it a Christmas present!”

Chloé glared at her father, then snapped her head back to the server. “So long as it comes out of _her_ paycheck.”

  
“I'll...see what I can arrange,” he said, though Chloé can tell from his voice that he doesn't intend to dock her pay. In just the short year since he lost mayorship or Paris, he's gone soft, lost all ability to command respect. For a second, Chloé contemplated accepting a position at the hotel just to straighten out the staff, but ultimately determined that once she started down that path, she would never be able to turn back.

Her destiny belonged to her.

(#)

It took André scarcely an hour to procure a replacement coat. It came from the same line as Chloé's old coat, but looked more like the coat she wore when she was still in collège, yellow with black lining and white fur around the collar. _'Like a bee,'_ she mused for a moment, then easily dismissed the thought.

After taking a shower and changing into fresh clothes; thick, white, thermal leggings and a matching high-collared sweater; Chloe's appetite had only deepened, despite what happened, but she was too eager to be out of the hotel and left to walk about the city before the growling of her stomach could become too evident. Was this what her relationship with her father had become? Was she willing to starve herself just to avoid him? No, no she wasn't, which was why she was on the prowl for real food, not that foul, greasy American fast food. Granted, foul greasy American fast food had its merits, and had become somewhat of a guilty pleasure to the girl who had once lived off of salads and sushi. But right now, she craved fresh croissants from the best bakery in Paris.

It truly pained Chloé to admit it, but M. Dupain made the most wondrous croissants in the city. Soft, flaky, buttery, you could taste the hours of preparation that went into them. Usually, Chloé would send one of her servants or a member of the hotel staff to pick up an order so she wouldn't have to deal with... _certain people_ herself, but without such resources, Chloé was forced to tend to her own needs. She prayed she wouldn't encounter Marinette today. She prayed she could walk in, grab a bag of croissants, and walk out without having to deal with the one person she hated more than anyone else.

The bell above the door jingled as Chloé entered and a young woman with long black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail straightened up from behind the counter. “Good morning!” she smiled. “Welcome to the Dupain-Che...Chloé?”

Atheism was starting to sound pretty good, right about now.

“Good morning, M–Marinette,” Chloé forced through her fake smile. It occurred to Chloé that every smile she had worn since landing in Paris not even a twelve hours ago was fake. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had genuinely smiled. Not that she'd had a reason to smile recently. “Three croissants, if you please.”

Marinette blinked, as though the order hadn't processed yet. Then she shook her head and smiled again. “Oh, yeah, sure!” She ducked behind the counter and came up with a small bag and a pair of tongs. “So, when did you get back in Paris?”

 _'Don't try to play things casual with me, you man-stealing wench!'_ Not that Chloé would say that aloud. This situation called for subtlety. “Last night. It was a little last minute since I only received my invitation _last week_.” She hoped the emphasis wasn't lost on the poor baker girl.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Marinette apologized. “We sent it out weeks ago with all the others, but you're the only person we invited living out of country, and we must have gotten your address wrong.” She reached into the display case but bypassed the closest pastries in favor of the fresher croissants towards the front. Chloé sneered at the pathetic attempt at bribery. “We got the invite back last week. Return to sender, envelope was chewed up and had all sort of stamps and seals all over it. We had to have Alya print a fresh one for you and send it out priority mail.” She folded the top of the bag over and passed it over the counter. “I'm just glad you got it on time.”

“Ah, lovely,” Chloé muttered. Marinette was taking this too gracefully. She was supposed to feel guilty. “Put these on my father's tab.”

Marinette waved a hand. “On the house as an apology for inconveniencing you.” The beeping of a timer behind her drew her attention away from the front, so she didn't catch Chloé's snort.

 _'What petty bribery,'_ she thought. But when she tore off a piece of croissant an popped it in her mouth... _'Sweet, flaky bribery.'_

“Enjoying that, are you?”

Chloé snapped back to reality only to realize she had let her eyes roll back and a satisfied moan escape her. She straightened and said, “Americans can't make decent croissants to save their lives.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “That's depressing. Glad I could give you a proper welcome back.” Another pair of customers strolled in and Marinette quickly greeted them before turning back to Chloé “Hey, um, Chloé, you, uh...”

“Spit it out,” Chloé snapped. “I have places to be.” Another lie.

Marinette didn't seem phased by Chloe's shortness. “Adrien and I were gonna call you later and ask if you wanted to meet us for lunch? My shift ends in about an hour, so _..._ _La Belle Rouge_ at twelve-thirty?”

 _La Belle Rouge_. Not exactly the fanciest restaurant in Paris, but not exactly something one could afford regularly on a baker's salary. No doubt their meal would be courtesy of Adrien.

“Twelve-thirty.” Chloé nodded and turned on her heel. Now that she had something to distract her from the rumbling in her stomach, the cold sting of the winter wind on her face was all the more evident. She looked around her and saw children throwing snowballs at one another, couples walking up and down the sidewalks arm in arm, but it was the statue in the park to her right that caught her eye.

Even while living in America with no reason to do so, she still followed the Ladyblog, so she knew that Ladybug and Chat Noir had added to their team, the additions reflected in the expanded statuary. The original statue had since been retired to make room for an updated work portraying Paris' five heroes as adults.

Ladybug stood in the center with her arms crossed and Chat Noir stood to her right with his fists on his hips. The original pair had really filled out. Muscle definition, longer hair, and slight modifications to their suits that couldn't quite be depicted in bronze. Next to Chat stood Jade Turtle, his hood down and a hand raised in a two finger salute. Volpina stood to the spotted heroine's left, one hand planted on her hip and her lips curved upwards in a wicked grin that exposed her sharpened canines. And on Volpina's left sat the statue of their newest member.

Paon, the peacock hero. Her statue depicted her standing straight with her feet together. Her signature fans sat unfurled in her hands, one held out to the side and the other just barely covering the smirk on her face. Everything about this statue was completely contrary to how she had acted when she first joined the team. Timid, unsure, down on herself. But over time, she became a fierce warrior, unafraid and confident, and it was that Paon that Theo had captured.

Chloé tilted her head as she gazed on Paon's statue. While Chloé had met the other four heroes on multiple occasions, she had never seen the peacock in person. She had joined what the Ladyblog referred to as 'Team Miraculous' shortly before Chloé left for America. Around the same time that...

_'I hope I never see you again!'_

“No problem there, Sabrina,” Chloé muttered to herself. “I'm just here to stop a wedding and get my–”

“'Scuse me, Mlle,” came a thin, raspy voice from behind her. She turned to see a scraggly man with an unkempt beard and an unwashed face. He wore a threadbare scarf, mismatched coat and trousers, and a ratty knit hat that looked (and _smelled_ ) like he'd pulled it out of a dumpster that morning. In fact, he smelled like he'd pulled _himself_ out of a dumpster that morning. He held out a shaky palm and asked, “Can you spare a _centimes_ for a hungry man?”

Chloé made no small show of bringing her hand up to cover her nose. “I have nothing for you. Now leave. You reek.”

“Please, Mlle,” he pleaded, taking a step closer. “Just a little. It's the holidays, after all.”

The heiress backpedaled. “I know what time of year it is.” When he took yet another step closer, she swung at him with her purse and caught him across the face. “Take a hint! Get away from me you...you _garbage man!”_

She whirled around and stalked off before the homeless man could react, fury in her steps and her eyes. The nerve of some people. Demanding handouts? And using the holiday season to guilt trip people? Christmas is a poor excuse to pick someone's pockets at the end of every year.

...why did that sound familiar?

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

Chloé flinched at the guttural roar and the subsequent screams of terror. Now that _did_ sound familiar.

“Call me _garbage_ , will you?”

She spun on her heels to face what could only be described as Frankenstein's Monster made of stitched together trash–empty soda cans, newspapers, half-torn plastic bags–with a massive battered trash can mounted on its back. It roared again and leaned forward to aim the overflowing mouth of the trash can right at Chloé, but she wasn't about to stick around to see what he did with it. Old instincts kicked in as she dropped her croissants and bolted out of the park, glad that she had chosen flat heeled snow boots rather than pumps. Another roar echoed from behind her followed by slow, thundering footfalls.

In the back of her mind, she lamented the loss of her free breakfast, but the forefront was preoccupied with a more important matter: _'I get to see Ladybug again!'_ All she had to do was avoid the Akuma just long enough for the heroes to show up and Chloé would reunite with her old friend! Thankfully, the Akuma (who called himself Éboueur) was more concerned with covering the streets in hot, rancid garbage than with capturing Chloé. That is until he used his trashcannon (Chloé cringed at the Chat-worthy pun) to launch a field of rotten banana peels into her path.

She slipped on the first peel she stepped on and wondered if this was it. This was her downfall. Done in by a cheap cartoon gag. She landed hard on her backside and more banana peels fell onto her, one slapping across her face.

“Now, you little priss,” Éboueur hissed. “You'll be garbage just...like...me _ooooff!”_

Chloé peeled the peel (' _I've got to stop it with the puns'_ ) from her face and saw the Akuma on his back and a man in an pitch black costume standing between them. He whirled his staff around and posed with it behind his back. Chat Noir. It was as though Chloe's puns had summoned him.

“Easy now, big guy. Let's not make any _trash_ decisioooo _oooohh!”_ He raised a hand to cover his nose and let out a string of hard coughs. Shortly after, a woman in orange with a long flowing tail dropped from the rooftops and landed at his side.

“Hey, you alright there, Kitty Ca _eeeaauuugh!_ ” Volpina clamped both hands over her nose and coughed. “Wha _*coughcough*_ whad dah hell is dat sbell?”

“Ad Akuba,” Chat deadpanned, his nose still plugged. “Lid– _*cough*–_ liderally bade of hod garbage.”

“Oh, go _uuuuhp._ ” The fox clamped her lips shut and her cheeks puffed out. She swallowed, then said, “Guh, thing I'b gudda be sig.”

“Yeah, be too.” He leaned over and braced his hands against his knees.

A third figure, another woman, landed in front of them and waved her azure fans towards Éboueur. He was just struggling back to his feet, but the sudden gust blew him backwards and took the fetid stench with it. She turned and smiled at the pair, her dark teal eyes shining behind her cerulean mask.

“ _So g_ lad peacocks don't have super smell. Better?”

Chat simply nodded, gave a thumbs up, and then sneezed. Volpina drew a deep breath in through her nose and let it out as a contented sigh. “ _Much_ better, Birdy. Thanks.”

Paon shook her head, her bright orange-red braid swaying behind her. “Would it kill you to use my actual name?”

The fox lightly punched the bird on the arm. “You know that's my thing, girl. Buggy, Kitty, Birdy, Shelly...” She raised her head and glanced around. “Speaking of, I haven't heard from Ni...uh, J-Jade all morning.”

“O-oh,” Paon stammered. “Oh, uh he's...”

“Hey!” came a familiar voice from the rooftops. Chloé glanced upwards and her face brightened at the sight of Ladybug standing with her fists on her hips and looking just as brave and confident as ever.. “You can socialize later. We've got a city to protect!” She tossed out her yoyo and swung hard and fast down the street towards the towering garbage man.

“You two go help LB.” Paon said. “I'll clean up the civilian.” Volpina and Chat nodded, then took off down the street, leaving Paon to stride over to Chloé and lean over to offer her hand.

Chloé accepted it and took in the new hero as she rose to her feet. The woman's suit was predominantly blue. Darker at her collar, then growing lighter as it moved down her body before it transitioned to black knee-high boots. Her fans hung loosely at her waist, suspended on a green belt that also bore a half-skirt of peacock feathers trailing over her left leg. Her gloves, dark blue at her hands fading into green, stopped at her upper biceps, leaving her freckle-flecked shoulders exposed. What Chloé could only assume was her Miraculous sat on the side of her green headband, just above her left ear: a bright blue pin that looked like a fanned peacock tail.

Paon helped brush banana peels from Chloe's clothes and let out a hoarse chuckle. “That guy got you good didn...” She paused when she removed a peel from the woman's face, her smile falling, then rising back up in an almost knowing smirk. “Chloé Bourgeois. How did I know?”

“You know who I am?”

“Please,” she shrugged, “everyone in this city knows you. And you haven't changed a bit in the past–how long has it been?” She tilted her head. “Four years?”

It was Chloé's turn to smirk. “It's because I take care of myself. Yoga, well-regulated diet, a rigorous beauty regi–”

“That's not what I meant.” Chloé raised an eyebrow and Paon's smirk disappeared. The hero crossed her arms and continued, “Not even a day back in Paris and you're already causing trouble.”

“Uh, that homeless guy wouldn't leave me alone,” Chloé defended. “He kept coming at me when I _clearly_ told him to go away.”

A wavy green and blue aura manifested around Paon's eyes. She looked Chloé up and down, and when she had finished with her scrutiny, the aura vanished. “Yeah, something tells me that's not quite what happened.” Chloé opened her mouth to retaliate, but Paon held up her hand. “Save it. Just...do us a favor and try not to be a total Akuma-triggering brat tomorrow, alright? It's Christmas.”

Chloé could only gape after the peacock heroine who leapt off to aid her teammates. The nerve. The... _nerve!_ Accusing her of being anything but the victim? That homeless guy wouldn't take no for an answer! He deserved her wrath! And it wasn't as though she was the only person in Paris capable of making people vulnerable to Hawkmoth. Why did they have to single her out? And that useless peacock hadn't even finished cleaning up the smelly, rotten banana peels staining her clothes. Ruining her second Agreste coat of the day.

She groaned and pulled her phone from her purse which she had–of course, of _freaking_ course–fallen on when she slipped. Thin spider web cracks distorted the selfie she'd taken with Melissa and set as her background. The touch screen was unresponsive, so she was left without a map to guide her to _La Belle Rouge_. At least until Ladybug fixed everything, per usual. Chloé gingerly stepped around the scattered banana peels and glanced around in an attempt to gain her bearings. The Tour Montparnasse lay to her left...and she had ran away from her old collége...so she had run east...maybe?...and La Balle Rouge was in the 15 th arrondissement...so that was...west...ish? A poorly judged step left her on her backside again, the screen on her phone now completely shattered.

This was going to be a long week.

(#)

Around twenty minutes later, Ladybug's magic washed through the streets and set everything right. Well, that _abomination_ was still occurring in about a week, but Chloé wouldn't hold that against the heroine. The Akuma attack had delayed Chloé for too long, and though she was meeting _Marinette_ , of all people, she still insisted on punctuality for Adrien's sake. A quick call to a cab company had her strolling into _La Belle Rouge_ a mere five minutes late for her lunch date.

The small corner bistro, which had opened about six years ago and was dedicated to Ladybug in theme and décor, held few patrons this afternoon, despite being in the height of the lunch rush, but among the few occupants, Chloé couldn't find a certain model or baker. A server wearing a Ladybug mask seated her and took her drink order: a strong, hot cup of Café au lait.

Adrien and Marinette ended up speed-walking in almost five minutes later, both red in the face and panting. Marinette mumbled some excuse about the Akuma holding them up and Adrien corroborated the story. Chloé forced yet another smile and shook Marinette's hand, only maintaining contact as long as necessary before throwing her arms around Adrien's neck and embracing him perhaps a little longer than she really needed to. He awkwardly pushed her away with a grimace almost as forced as Chloé's (not that she'd notice) and took his seat beside his– _yech!–_ fiance.

The same server came up and took their orders. Chloé ordered something light and noted that Marinette chose a heavy, hearty sandwich, a large bowl of soup, and the largest hot chocolate they had. Of course she would load up the bill. She was eating on Adrien's _centimes_ , after all. She feigned regret at ordering such a meal, claimed she hadn't eaten since she started her shift at the bakery, but Adrien only smiled and rubbed his nose against hers, claiming 'his Lady' could order whatever she pleased.

Were they _trying_ to make Chloé vomit?

“So good to see you, Chlo,” Adrien said. “I'm glad you could make it. Did Marinette already apologize for getting the invite to you so late?”

 _'Oh, she's got far more to apologize for than that, Adrikins.'_ “Yes. She successfully bought me off with free croissants.” Marinette giggled and Chloé scowled. “Which I dropped during the Akuma attack.”

“Don't worry, Chloé.” Marinette reached across the table and took Chloé's hand, giving it a light squeeze. It took every ounce of her willpower and self control not to jerk away and gag. Did she honestly think they were friends? After what she did? What she was _going_ to do? “You can come to the bakery any time. Papa insists my friends eat for free. W-within reason, of course.”

“Friends? Us?” Chloé said before she could bite back her tongue.

Marinette fidgeted in her seat and blushed. “I...know we never really...hung out or talked or anything like that.” She paused and slumped her shoulders. “Okay, we friggin hated each other back in lycée, but Adrien insisted that I put whatever petty squabbles we had behind us and try to at least be civil.” She met Chloé's eyes and gave a sincere smile. “I want to make an honest effort. I want to be your friend, Chloé. Not just for Adrien's sake, but for our sake.”

 _'Petty?_ Petty _? You call cozying up to someone else's man 'petty'?'_ However, despite Chloé's utter disgust at the idea of befriending Marinette, this did present a rather interesting opportunity. If Marinette _did_ consider them friends, it would be no trouble to get closer to her, figure out her juiciest secrets, possibly even whatever she was holding over Adrien's head, then use those secrets to take Adrien back. The poor girl was doing Chloé's work for her.

“My only desire is to see Adrien happy,” Chloé smirked. “And if that's what he truly wants...” Her smirk wavered, but she maintained it. “We can bury the hatchet.”

_'In your skull. But only as a Plan B. Can't be Adrien's blushing bride if I have a criminal record.'_

Adrien opened his mouth to speak, but the server chose that moment to deliver their food. They ate in relative silence, filling the gaps between bites and sips with idle chit-chat about holiday plans, gifts the still needed to buy, friends they needed to visit. Adrien dropped some ridiculous chemistry pun Chloé wasn't entirely paying attention to, but she still found herself laughing along. This felt...nice. It felt warm, welcoming. It felt good to be around people who didn't want anything from her. No expectations, no outrageous demands, no probing questions. Just sit, eat, chat. Chloé felt a smile creep up on her face, but it immediately vanished when Adrien leaned in to sneak a kiss from Marinette. It didn't matter how 'nice' this felt. She was here for a purpose.

“...tonight?”

Chloé blinked herself out of her stupor and refocused on Marinette. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

Marinette only smiled. “I asked if you had any plans tonight.” Chloé answered with a shake of her head. “Well...there's a friend of mine who said he'd only come to the wedding if he had a date...and I've known him for a _really_ long time and I _really_ want him to be there...so...”

 _'Oh you have got to be joking.'_ “Marinette, are you seriously trying to hook me up with a guy?”

“Not hook you up, _per se_ , but just meet with him and see what happens. I think you'll like him.”

“Who is he?”

Marinette almost answered but Adrien pressed a finger to her lips. “I think it would be more fun if it remained a secret, buga-, uh, babe.”

A blind date. They were trying to set her up on a blind date. She almost said no. She almost turned them down, almost demanded to know who they were trying to set her up with, but an idea popped into her head. Marinette said she'd known whoever-he-is for a really long time. That must mean he knew Marinette well. Well enough to get a little dirt on her. Between Marinette offering her friendship and a window into her past, it would be all too easy to convince Adrien his fiance was nothing but bad news.

“I... _suppose_ I could meet him.” That's right, Chloé. Can't seem too eager. “If I could find something to wear, that is.”

“You're not going to dinner at _Astrance_ , Chloé. Just a small, friendly meal, maybe at _Chartier_.”

Ugh. Poor people food. But still, it stood to reason that anyone who would call Marinette Dupain-Cheng a friend could only afford such. And if it meant figuring out how to ruin Marinette and win back Adrien, it would be well worth it.

After all, it was only one night.

(#)

The cab let Chloé out in front of _Chartier_ just a few minutes before eight, when she had agreed to meet this mystery man. She still wore the coat her father had given her earlier that day, but had traded in her white leggings for black and sweater for a black off the shoulder dress with long sleeves and gold stitched trim. It was the least fancy dress she'd brought with her, and she had brought quite the selection with her just so she could coordinate something particularly special Marinette's wedding and/or funeral.

She stepped into the dining room and waved off the Maître D. She informed him that she was meeting someone and would find him herself. She wandered, examining every man she passed who fit the description Marinette had given her.

 _'Black shirt, silver tie. Jeez, Cheng, couldn't give me any more than that? Let's see...black shirt, red tie. Nope. Black shirt...turn around...turn around you son of a...grey tie. Maybe. Ooh, that tie is silver..._ striped. _Is that him? Ugh, god I hope not. I'm not going anywhere near that pedo-stache. Come on. He better be here or I will be worlds of pissed off. Oh, I think that's him. Black shirt...silver tie...red hair oh god is that who I think it is?'_

“Nathanaël?”

The red head had been absently flicking his straw around the rim of his water glass and jumped a little at the sound of Chloé's voice. He looked her over, opened his mouth, clamped it shut, then opened it again, as though he were trying to either remember her name or figure out why Marinette had set him up on a date with someone as out of his league as Chloé _Effing_ Bourgeois.

“Uh, Ch...Chloé?” Hmm, perhaps a little of both.

She pursed her lips. “Marinette?”

He huffed and flashed a wan smile. “Marinette.”

Chloé slid into the chair opposite Nathanaël's and noted just how cramped the table was. “Honestly, what was she thinking trying to set us up?”

Nathanaël shrugged. “Maybe she's like Rose. You know, a romantic.”

“Yeah, and maybe, _also_ like Rose, she has no sense of compatibility. Remember how Rose swore Alix and Kim would get together, but Kim asked Max out in _première_?”

“And Alix ended up being ace?”

Before Chloé could realize what was happening, she found herself smiling. She found herself enjoying reminiscing about their school days. “I swear, did Rose get anyone right?”

Nathanaël crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Let's see...she called Nino and Alya getting together, despite that weird phase where they hated each other.”

Chloé propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Yeah, I never really understood what was going on with them.”

“Nino hated Volpina and Alya hated Jade Turtle.” He shrugged. “They made up eventually, but for almost a year, it was like Team Edward versus Team Jacob.”

“Ugh, Twilight references?” Her lips curled upwards in disgust. “Couldn't you have said literally anything else? Like Zutara and Kataang?”

Nathanaël's eyebrows shot upward. “You watched Avatar?”

She tilted her head and hitched one shoulder. “Adrien got me hooked, the nerd.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed to Chloé. “Ah! Another couple Rose called right: Adrien and Marinette.”

Chloé banished her smile at the mention of their names. What was she doing? Waxing nostalgic? No, losing track of her objective was more like it. She was here to recapture Adrien's heart and have her happily ever after, not talk about 'the good ole days' with a red-headed loser of an artist. Just look at him. He hasn't changed a bit. News flash: that emo 'hair-over-one-eye' thing is so twenty years ago. Knowing him, he probably still had a huge crush on...

...wait a minute...

...fortune smiles.

“Everything alright, Chloé?”

A slow, broad smile bloomed across Chloé's face. Not a happy smile, either. Conniving, cunning, deceptive. “Oh, I'm fine, Nathanaël. Just...thinking about the wedding.”

“Oh, is that why you're back in Paris?”

“In a way,” Chloe cooed. She laced her fingers together and closed her eyes. “Marinette is getting married. Doesn't that bother you? Didn't you have a crush on her years ago?”

He blushed. “W-well, yeah, but then again, I think most of the class did. Nino, Kim, which makes me think he's bi, or something, I think Alya mentioned–”

“I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you. Don't you wish _you_ could be the one marrying Marinette next week?”

“Marinette made her choice, Chloé.” His voice took on an edge she'd never heard before. _'Hmm, maybe his balls finally dropped.'_ “And though I don't think anyone truly gets over their first crush, I'm happy for her. I'm happy for Adrien.”

“Oh, I'm sure you are, but are you happy for yourself?” She opened her eyes and took in the look of bewilderment on his face. He still hadn't answered. “I have a bit of a proposition for you that could prove mutually beneficial for us.”

Nathanaël squinted at her, not sure if he should cut his losses and go home, or hear her out. Against his better judgment, he responded, “Proposition?”

Chloé grinned. “Help me put a stop to this wedding. Adrien deserves someone better than Marinette–”

“Someone like you?” The edge had returned, but Chloé paid it no mind.

“You catch on quick.” She leaned in even closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Help me win Adrien back and I'll help you improve your standing in Marinette's eyes. We both end up with who we want, we both go home happy. So, what do you say?”

He sat with his eyes on Chloé, his brow furrowed. Nearly a minute of silenced passed between them, only broken by the ambient clatter of dishes and chatter of patrons. He was overthinking this. All he had to do was use his connections to Marinette and supply Chloé with whatever information she needed to make Adrien see reason, then when Adrien left Marinette at the alter, Nathanaël could be there to comfort her, and she'd realize just the kind of guy she had overlooked amid her blind, star-struck celebrity worship.

_'Come on, Nath. Just say the word and you get to have your princess, just like in those stupid little comics you used to draw.'_

“No.”

“... _what_?”

He hardened his gaze and stood, his chair shrieking against the floor. “I can't believe you. I thought maybe after all these years, you'd changed. Maybe you'd learned to let go and realize that Adrien never loved you, not the way he loves Marinette. And _maybe_ you'd matured enough to be happy for your best friend...” He paused, eyes wide, and poured buckets of sarcasm into his next few words. “Oh, I'm sorry. Your _only_ friend, despite whoever he chose to spend the rest of his life with.”

He gathered up the gray coat that had been hanging from the back of his chair and glared down at Chloé. “You know, I was kinda on the fence about going to the wedding, but I think I will now, if for no other reason than to keep you the hell away from it!” He dug a money clip from his pocket, tossed a couple of euros onto the table and stomped around Chloé towards the door.

Silence reigned in the restaurant, though no longer marred by clatter and chatter. Several eyes were locked on her after Nathanaël's outburst. Chloé simply sat in what may well have been shock. How dare he. How... _dare he!_ She comes up to him with a golden opportunity to have what he admitted he still wanted, and he turns her down? Did...did Marinette really have the entire city brainwashed into accepting this? This was madness! Insanity! She was only using Adrien! She didn't know the first thing about him, not like Chloé did! Chloé would truly appreciate Adrien, give him the life he deserved. And she would do it _without_ that obnoxious artists help.

...right after she gave him a piece of her mind.

She swept upwards out of her chair, paused, then snatched the euros off the table. No service, no tip. She stormed out of the restaurant and whipped her head left and right, blonde hair snapping behind her, until she caught sight of Nathanaël waving down a cab just down the street. He must have heard the rapid fire click of her heels on the sidewalk, or perhaps sensed the aura of fury and doom oozing from her every pore, because he turned his head towards her and widened his eyes. He shouted something that Chloé would have registered as 'look out' had her anger-addled brain been able to do so, but before she could get out the first word to tear him a new one, Nathanaël, and the whole city even, slipped downwards in her field of vision.

She never saw the ice. The ice Nathanaël had slipped on just a few seconds ago. The ice he had tried to warn her about. The ice that sent her legs flying forward from underneath her and her head crashing backward into the concrete.

She never saw the CT scans that showed internal hemorrhaging in the back of her skull. She never saw the surgeon desperately trying to save her. She never saw her heart monitor flatline, the aide who performed CPR for almost fifteen minutes, the nurse who placed his hand on the aide's shoulder, assuring her she had done all she could. She never saw the surgeon glance up to the clock and call her time of death right at midnight with a wry mutter of 'Merry Christmas.'

She also never saw the bright green wave of light that originated near Notre Dame and washed across the entire city.


	3. Date 2

 

_Wanna learn how to believe again  
Find the innocence in me again_

Chloé blinked herself awake and slowly sat up. She glanced around and realized she was back in her bedroom. Something about that didn't seem right, so she played back her memories of the previous night. She met Nathanaël for dinner, but dinner never happened because he didn't have the guts to admit he still wanted to be with Marinette. She walked outside to tell him where he could shove his altruism, she slipped on some ice...

She lifted a hand to the back of her head, expecting stitches or at least a lump, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Odd. A fall like that should have left some evidence.

_I wanna see Christmas through your eyes  
I want everything to be the way it used to be_

_'Well, we can agree on that, Gloria.'_ The way it used to be...Adrien at her side and Marinette in her place. Chloé snatched up her phone and turned off her alarm. She quickly replaced the song with a generic alert and laid back down in bed, ready to sleep in. But then again, Daddy might have some Christmas presents waiting for her in the lobby, and she was already awake due to someone setting her alarm for her. She clambered her way out of bed and walked over to her suitcase. She was a bit shocked to find her clothes from the previous day already washed and folded. Including the hollandaise stained clothes. Whoever had done it had also tucked them back into her suitcase exactly where she'd packed them. She shrugged. No big deal. Probably trying to earn their Christmas bonus.

She got dressed, did her makeup, and looked everywhere for the coat her father had gifted her, but couldn't find it. She did, however, find her first coat in her garment bag. The white coat that should have been thrown out. She looked on it with disgust, at first furious that someone would shove this disgusting and stained thing back in with her clean clothes, but upon turning it around, couldn't find the barest trace of hollandaise. Had the server girl gone out of her way to have it dry-cleaned? Chloé actually smiled. Maybe there was hope for that girl yet.

During the short stroll to the elevators, she contemplated how today would go. She'd already lost one day. She'd made some progress in 'befriending' Marinette, sure, but there was no telling whether or not Nathanaël had blabbed about her plans. If he had, Chloé's mission was ruined. She might as well book the next flight to Los Angeles and leave with her tail between her legs. But...something felt strange. The thought of ruining her chances at winning Adrien back bothered her, yes, but what bothered her more was...

Losing Marinette's friendship. She'd seemed so eager to just put the past behind them, to forgive years of cruelty. The sincerity in her voice, in her eyes. And how did Chloé decide to repay her forgiveness? By plotting to steal away her fiance.

...no. Marinette stole Adrien from _her_. This wasn't about friendship or forgiveness or free croissants. This was about Chloé getting what was hers and it didn't matter who stood in her way. It didn't matter–

“Oh my god is this the only song in the universe right now?”

That same instrumental of 'Christmas Through Your Eyes' played through the elevator speakers. It was official. That song was stalking her. She groaned, happy when the elevator doors opened and she sped out into the lobby, which seemed abnormally busy for Christmas Day. People checking in, bellhops carrying luggage, everything seemed eerily familiar. Déjà vu. She rounded the corner into the dining room and spotted her father sitting at the same table he'd sat at the previous day. The same half-interested look on his face.

“So good to see you doing well, Chloé.” Even the same greeting.

“I'm doing as well as can be expected,” she responded, taking her seat across from him.

“What happened, dearest?” Only the faintest hint of concern in his voice.

“I slipped on some ice last night and...” Images flashed through her mind. Blue surgical gowns. Light glinting off a scalpel. A clock steadily ticking its way closer to midnight. She lifted a hand to the back of her head. “I think I hit my head.”

“That's odd, I'm sure M. Barbiche would have mentioned that after picking you up at the airport last night.”

“M. Barbiche? He wasn't even with me last...wait.” The airport? Last night? “No, I was at _Chartier_ meeting a fri...meeting someone for dinner.”

“Are you sure, Chloé?” André laced his fingers together and leaned across the table. “It was my understanding that you went to bed immediately after you got back to Paris.”

“Well, yeah, but that was two days ago. I woke up yesterday morning, came down for breakfast–”

“S-sorry to interrupt, dearest.” André turned his head and waved M. Barbiche over. They spoke in hushed tones while Chloé fumed and flicked at the silverware arranged on the table. _'What is going on? They think I'm crazy, Daddy doesn't even wish me a Merry Christmas, and he barely shows concern over me getting hurt last night. And that would have been a big deal. Someone would have had to carry me to my room. Set my alarm. Change me back into my Ladybug pajamas oh god whoever did that saw me naked.'_ Her eyes widened at the revelation just as André finished his conversation with the butler.

“M. Barbiche assures me that you didn't slip last night. Perhaps it happened before you got on the plane? In Los Angeles?”

“No, Daddy,” she spat. “I slipped last night, around eight o'clock, outside _Chartier._ ”

André furrowed his brow at his daughter. “Chloé, what is today?”

Chloé sneered. “Uh, duh. Christmas Day.”

André looked up to M. Barbiche then back to his daughter. “Chloé...today is Christmas _Eve_. Your plane came in last night.” She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped when her father nodded to her left.

Chloé turned her head and spotted a television tuned to the news. Nadja Chamack was reporting on...well, whatever it was, it was irrelevant, because what drew Chloé's attention was a string of numbers in the lower corner of the screen. 24/12/22. December 24th. Christmas Eve.

But that was... _impossible._ She remembered yesterday so clearly. The free croissants. The Akuma. Paon being a total bitch. Lunch with Marinette and Adrien, the almost-dinner with Nathanaël. It all happened...hadn't it? Was it all a dream? An incredibly vivid dream?

That had to be it. Only in a dream would Marinette want to be friends with her. Only in a dream would one of Paris' heroes be that rude to her. Only in a dream would...would Nathanaël tolerate her presence for more than a few seconds.

“I...I guess it was a dream,” Chloé mumbled. “Or maybe I'm getting my days crossed because of jet lag. Who knows?”

“Well, so long as you're alright, dearest.” He must have seen something over Chloé's shoulder because his eyes brightened up. “Ah, breakfast is served! I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of ordering Eggs Benedict for you. I remember you mentioned craving the dish earlier this year.”

 _'Okay, that's exactly what he said yeste...uh...in my dream._ _A...coincidence. It has to be a coincidence. It's all a dream.'_ She smelled the poached eggs approaching the table and her stomach turned. _'Ugh, I just wish that Christmas party last year was a dream.'_

“Sorry, Daddy. But I'm meeting Adrien later this morning so I–”

As Chloé stood, her chair pushed backwards behind her. She heard the chair legs scuff on the hardwood floor, felt the chair pitch to her left with her legs, and felt something warm and wet spill down her back. Her shoulders hitched upwards, a look of shock on her face. She knew exactly what had happened even before she turned. The same server on her knees and staring up at Chloé in abject horror.

“I-I-I'm s-so sorry, Mlle. Bourgeois!” the server stuttered. “I'll have this cleaned up in a moment and I _swear_ , I'll pay to have your coat dry-cleaned!”

Even as the hollandaise dripped down her back, Chloe found herself unable to move. Daddy's words, the hollandaise spill, then the same server, her exact same words. Coincidence. It had to be a coincidence...right?

“See...” Chloé muttered, somehow unable to summon the same fury she'd exhibited...yesterday? In her dream? What was true anymore? “See that you do.”

“Oh, dearest, what an unfortunate accident.” André rose from his chair and began to rest his arm across his daughter's shoulders, only to pull away at the sight of the sauce oozing across her collar. “I'll buy you a new coat at once. Call, uh, call it a Christmas present!”

An hour later, after a shower, Chloé stood dressed in her room with the coat her father had left her in her hands. Yellow with black lining and white fur around the collar. The same coat. Not a similar coat, but the _exact_ same coat. She slipped it on and felt it sit across her shoulders just as she remembered.

“What is going on?” she asked no one.

There were only two explanations. Okay, make it three: Either Chloé's dreams had become prophetic, an Akuma was involved in this, or the stress and shock of Adrien choosing someone else had finally caught up to her and she was truly losing her mind. She could strike out the third possibility. She was stronger than that. If she could withstand the trauma of multiple Akuma attacks and Marinette's presence, she could withstand anything. Also, the second explanation didn't seem to hold weight. It had become generally accepted fact that Hawkmoth could only create one Akuma at a time and unless he'd become stronger in the last four years, Éboueur was his one Akuma. But that meant...

The growling of her stomach told her what she needed to do next. The bakery. Her croissants. If she could truly predict the future with her dreams, that meant Marinette would give her free croissants, invite her to lunch at _La Belle Rouge_ , and arrive late due to Éboueur's attack.

A fifteen minute walk later, and the bell above the door to the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie jingled just as it had in Chloé's dream. Marinette straightened up from behind the counter and smiled. “Good morning! Welcome to the Dupain-Che...Chloé?”

 _'So far, so good.'_ “Good morning, Marinette. Three croissants, please?”

The same lag in her response. “Oh, yeah, sure!” She ducked behind the counter and came up with a small bag and a pair of tongs. “So, when did you get back in Paris?”

“Last night.” _'Oh my god, this is actually happening! I can predict the future!'_ The rest of their conversation went exactly as Chloé dreamt, right down to the invitation to _La Belle Rouge._ She wandered out of the bakery, her free croissants in hand and a smirk on her face. Now, all she needed was to dream up some winning lottery numbers, sports scores, or perhaps even Adrien's wedding so she could see exactly how brutally she takes down Marinette.

She strolled through the park, eyeing the statue again, wondering if she would see Paris' heroes again. Éboueur came next in her dream, but getting covered in trash and breaking her phone wasn't exactly on her list of things to do today...

“'Scuse me, Mlle, can you spare a _centimes_ for a hungry man?”

...so Chloé just ignored the beggar, kept walking, and continued munching on her croissants. If she didn't call him a 'garbage man' he wouldn't turn into a garbage villain. That easy.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

Chloé flinched at the guttural roar and the subsequent screams of terror. She slowly turned and faced not an amalgamated monstrosity made of garbage but a much smaller man with pale skin, a white mask, and a suit that, if possible, was even more hideous than the garbage... _thing_ he had become in Chloe's dream _._ Imagine, if you will, that you have entered a home improvement warehouse and meandered to the paint department. Now imagine that you have before you the expansive wall of little cards covered in color palettes and swatches. Now, take those colors, turn them into paintballs, and fire them at random at a wall, each color overlapping and blending with each other until they become a garish, clashing mess.

That would be an approximate description of the suit this Akuma wore.

“Ignore _me_ , will you?” He threw out a hand and blasted a multi-colored beam that struck a few panicking civilians and...disintegrated them. Nothing remained. No ashes, no piles of clothes, nothing save for...their screams of terror? He blasted a car in the street and it also vanished, leaving a floating woman in a seated position. She swerved to the left and a street lamp in front of her buckled under some unseen force.

Unseen...

“Soon, no one will be able to ignore me because no one will see anything _but_ me!”

Chloé ran. She ran, unconsciously taking the same route she had taken in her dream. But she was beginning to question the veracity of her precognitive vision. _'That shouldn't have happened. That shouldn't have happened. I didn't call him a garbage man this time, so he shouldn't have become an Akuma. Unless...he would have become an Akuma no matter what I did. But I changed it...that means...'_

The Akuma (now called Desparaître) fired a beam that caught Chloé in the back and erased her from sight. She stopped running and glanced down at her hands. Still visible, to her at least, but saw them only in black and white. Desparaître cackled as he whirled around and blasted everything in sight until nothing was in sight. And just as in Chloé's dream, because some things never change, Chat Noir dropped from the rooftops and knocked the Akuma onto his back.

“Sorry, big guy, but your reign of terror has been canceled due to _unforeseen_ circumstances.”

Volpina dropped to his side a second later. “That was bad even for you, Kitty Cat.”

“I make no apologies.”

“Hey guys!” Paon shouted from above. She landed between them and planted a fist on her hip. “What are we up against?”

Chat turned back to the Akuma. “He can turn anything he blasts invisible. Your powers are gonna come in super handy for keeping track of all the invisible stuff around us.”

“Wow, I can already see this is gonna be a pain.” She glanced around with the same green and blue aura she'd had around her eyes in Chloé's dream. What kind of power was she using? Could she actually see everything Desparaître had rendered invisible? “Car..tree...street light...” Her eyes widened as they centered on the invisible blonde. “Chloé?”

“Chloé Bourgeois?” Volpina gawked. “She's back in Paris?”

“And already causing trouble, I see.” Paon crossed her arms.

“Uh, I'm invisible, not deaf,” Chloé huffed.

“Hey!” came Ladybug's voice from behind Volpina and Chat. They all turned to spot her deflecting Desparaître's invisiblasts (Chloé cringed again. _'Why can't I stop with the puns?'_ ) with her yoyo. “You can socialize later. We've got a city to protect!”

Chat smirked and turned to his other teammates. “Best not to keep my Lady waiting.”

Volpina and Chat both leapt into the fight with their weapons raised, but Paon wasn't so quick to join them. She pulled her fans from her belt and glared at Chloé. “Look, I don't know what you did to get this poor guy akumatized, and frankly, I don't care. Just do us a favor and try not to be a total Akuma-triggering brat tomorrow, alright? It's Christmas.”

Chloé fumed. Paon. And she thought Chat Noir was obnoxious. That stupid bird was by far more annoying. Acting as though Chloé had personally wronged her. As though she knew Chloé from before she moved to America. Who was she? Hmm...red hair, teal eyes, couldn't stand Chloé's guts, and started out her superhero career as a timid lump desperate for validation. Why did that sound familiar?

...

...nope. Nothing.

(#)

As it would turn out, Akuma powers were so random and wide-ranging that the servers at _La Belle Rouge_ had no issue with seating an invisible patron. Chloé absently stirred her coffee, letting her mind wander to her 'date' tonight, until Ladybug's Miraculous Cure descended on the city and set everything right. Should she still agree to the date with Nathanaël? In her dream, it seemed Adrien thought she might refuse if she knew who she was meeting. Maybe because they hated each other back in collège. Well, no. Chloé didn't _hate_ Nathanaël, but she certainly wouldn't entertain the idea of a relationship with him, not when she could have Adrien. _He_ was the one who should have hated _her_ for getting him akumatized and for calling out his crush on Marinette.

But they were fine in the dream. They held a civil conversation, they smiled, and he even said he thought she had changed. That was...good, right? Yes. Yes, that was good. If anything, the encounter with the new Akuma taught her one thing: she could change the events in her dream. That meant she just needed to be more subtle with Nathanaël. Don't make an upfront offer to disrupt the wedding. Gain his trust, talk about their lycée days, then steer the conversation towards Marinette. Get him to divulge all her nasty little secrets under the guise of wanting to be her friend.

Marinette and Adrien arrived late, just as they had in her dream. Chloé gave Marinette the same brief handshake and Adrien the same hug, though a little more abbreviated. Marinette ordered the same meal and Adrien gave her the same cloying eskimo kiss. Chloé had to cough to cover up her groan is displeasure. Even though she seen the gesture already, it didn't make it any more tolerable.

“So good to see you, Chlo,” Adrien said. “I'm glad you could make it. Did Marinette already apologize for getting the invite to you so late?”

“Yes, yes, everything's fine.” She waved off his concerns. “She successfully bought me off with free croissants.” Marinette giggled and Chloé scowled. “Which I still dropped.” Adrien quirked his eyebrow just as Chloé realized her error. “I...n-never mind.”

Other than that small hiccup, their conversation went much the same as in the dream. Marinette's admission that she wanted to be Chloé's friend. Idle chit chat over lunch accompanied by that same warmth in Chloé's chest. Her mind drifted back to the dream, what Nathanaël had said right before her abandoned her at _Chartier._

 _'...happy for your best friend...Oh, I'm sorry. Your_ only _friend...'_

That wasn't true. Chloé had plenty of friends. She had Melissa, Adrien, Ladybug, and Marinette said she wanted to give friendship a chance. That was four. Shows what you know, you stupid tomato.

She paused with her coffee cup almost at her lips. Had...had she counted Marinette as a friend? She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. No. Marinette wasn't...wasn't her friend. She was her enemy. Three. Three friends was fine. Except she had never really interacted with Ladybug outside of Akuma attacks, and they'd never exchanged numbers so they could talk while Chloé was in America. Two. People usually only have two good friends anyway, right? Except Melissa was little more than a roommate. They had casual conversations, bought each other ice cream and chocolate during their periods, ranted about bad dates, but did they really know each other? Small matter. Adrien was the only friend she neede–

 _'Oh, I'm sorry. Your_ only _friend...'_

...the damn tomato child was right. Adrien was her only friend. Is that why she wanted Marinette's friendship? Is that why she had enjoyed spending time with Nathanaël in the dream? Is that why some small part of her wanted to seek out and make amends with Sabri–

_'No. Sabrina said she never wanted to see me again, and that's what she'll get.'_

She set her coffee cup down with a little more force than she intended and some of the hot liquid splashed up on her hand where her thumb met her wrist. She recoiled with a small yelp and immediately clamped her free hand over thumb.

“Whoa, hey!” Marinette yanked her napkin from her lap and dipped it in her water glass. “You okay, Chloé?”

“Oh, y-yeah, I'm ffff–” she fought to keep a certain f-word she'd learned in America behind her teeth “–f-fine.”

Marinette took her hand and dabbed the cool cloth over the burn. It felt better immediately, and Chloé found it strange that one: Marinette would be so quick to help her and two: she wasn't sickened or put off by the contact. It felt nice to have someone willing to drop everything and help her.

“Might want to put something on that when you get back to the hotel,” Adrien recommended.

Chloé nodded as Marinette tied the napkin around her wrist. “Doesn't look like that big of a scald. Just keep cool water on it, aloe lotion and...this is gonna sound weird, but mustard works wonders on burns.” Chloé jerked back and Marinette smiled. “Like I said, weird, but we see a lot of burns in the bakery, and Papa always keeps a bottle of cheap mustard handy.”

Her nose turned up at the thought. Smearing condiments on her perfect skin? As if.

“So...this may not be the best time to ask, but,” Marinette started. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

Oh, right. The 'blind' date. Chloé pretended to think about it then shook her head. Marinette then proceeded to fill her in on the details, but she wasn't paying attention. She already knew everything she needed to know: _Chartier,_ eight o'clock, Nathanaël. What she focused on more was how she would gain his trust and his friendship, then use whatever he knew about Marinette to smear her name through the mud. And even if she couldn't do that, even if Nathanaël decided he didn't want to see her after their date, at least she'd have a...decent time. Nathanaël wasn't the worst company she could imagine for a date, so she might as well enjoy herself.

Even if it was for only one night.

(#)

She didn't even have to search through the dining room when she walked in, dressed just as she was in her dream. Dream-Chloé had good fashion sense. Her eyes locked onto his messy tomato mop the moment it came into view. He was flicking his straw again, unfocused and absently glancing around. When she approached him, he gave her the same shocked and disbelieving look he had in the dream.

“Uh, Ch...Chloé?”

“So you're the guy Marinette set me up with?”

He huffed and flashed a wan smile. “I, uh, I guess so.”

Chloé slid into the chair opposite Nathanaël's and noticed something different. Now that she wasn't pondering why Marinette would think they'd be compatible, she could focus on Nathanaël. His hair was only slightly longer that it used to be, his shoulders more broad, his jaw more angled, completely clear of scruff or fuzz, and his smile, as forced as it was, still seemed to light up his face. He actually looked...kinda...handsome.

 _'...okay whoa. Where the hell did_ that _thought come from? No, no, stop it Chloé! You are here to win Adrien back not fall for the stupid artist! Get your head together!'_

“Chloé? Earth to Chloé!”

She shook her head and refocused. She was doing that a lot lately. What was it about being back in Paris that had made her so introspective?

“Sorry, just trying to figure out why Marinette would want to set us up.”

Nathanaël shrugged. “Maybe she's like Rose. You know, a–”

“Romantic?” Chloé interrupted. She knew how this conversation would go. “And maybe, _also_ like Rose, she has no sense of compatibility. Like how Rose swore Alix and Kim would get together, but Kim asked Max out in _première._ ”

“And Alix ended up–”

“Being ace?” they finished together. They were silent for a few seconds before they both began to laugh. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why it was so easy to relax around him. So easy to just talk about their collège days. So easy to laugh and smile.

Their conversation carried through the server taking their drink orders. They sat with their menus propped open, yet their eyes were only on each other, so when the server returned, Chloé struggled to speed-read her menu.

“I'm sorry,” she said to the server, her second apology of the night and it made Nathanaël's eyes widen. “I've never eaten here before so–”

“Wait, never?” Nathanaël interrupted. Chloé nodded. “Oh, I guess this is too 'commoner' for you, huh?”

Her nose bunched up. “Uh, excuse you.” But her eyes betrayed her embarrassment and her face warmed.

“Just so you know,” he smiled, “the duck _confit_ is to die for.”

She glanced down at the menu, then back up to Nathanaël. She folded up the menu and held it up to the server. “Duck _confit_ it is.”

“Whoa, what happened to your hand?” he pointed at the white bandage wound around her right wrist.

Chloé dropped her eyes to it and shrugged. “Some coffee splashed on my wrist when I met Marinette for lunch. No big.”

Nathanaël tilted his head. “Uh, since when do you have lunch dates with Marinette?”

Chloe groaned. “Since she invited me to the wedding and insisted we put the past behind us. She actually wants to...be my friend.”

“Would it be such a bad thing to be Marinette's friend?”

_'Oh, yes it would, especially since she stole my future husband from me. But I can't let you know that.'_

“I...guess not.” Perfect segue in three...two...one... “I just don't know that much about her.” Chloé grinned and leaned her elbows on the table. “What can you tell me about her?”

Nathanaël smiled and dove into story after story about Marinette. Even through dinner and a beautifully prepared duck that made Chloé's eyes roll back in her head, he continued to sing her praises. But that wasn't what Chloé wanted. She wanted embarrassing anecdotes. She wanted dirt. She wanted filthy little secrets that would make Adrien run back into her arms. But the worst she got was Marinette is stubborn, had a bit of a temper that makes her act hastily, and she hates liars. Nothing new.

But this was just one night. One date, one conversation. There would be plenty of times during the following week to grill Nathanaël for the juicy details. She just had to play along, pretend she was having a good time, and gain his trust. Then, maybe just before the wedding, reveal all to Adrien and leave poor Marinette alone and heartbroken. Oh, and if Marinette got akumatized, that would just be the icing on the cake. Watching Ladybug and her team pummel that stupid girl would cap off Chloe's plan beautifully.

“I have to admit,” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “That was...good.”

“Oh, wow. Chloé Bourgeois singing the praises of commoner food.”

“Shut up, you.” She averted her eyes. “I've...developed a taste for less refined things since living in America.”

“And eating at McDonald's? What's the world coming to?”

She tossed her napkin across the table at him, but he only laughed it off. Despite her foul temperament and displeasure at constant embarrassment, she found herself smiling with him, though the smile was accompanied by the internal mantra: _'It's all an act. It's all an act.'_

“Any plans with your father tomorrow?”

Chloé shrugged. “Likely. Nothing concrete. Probably just dinner and a small gift exchange. What about you? Any Christmas plans?”

Nathanaël put on an uncomfortable smile. “Not that you ever bothered to ask back in lycée, but...I'm Jewish.”

She blinked. “Oh, I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume...”

“It's fine, it's fine.” He held up a hand and smiled at her. “It's worth it to hear you apologize for the third time tonight.”

“Is that so far out of character for me?”

“It kinda is. But in a good way.”

How many more times would she blush tonight? And how was it so easy for _him_ to make her blush? Yeah, she'd apologized for assuming he observed Christmas, but it wasn't because it was him. Melissa observed Kwanzaa and gave her a stern talking to when she just 'assumed' her religion. But...she'd still meant it. It wasn't just to earn his trust, she actually didn't mean to assume, didn't mean to hurt his feelings.

_'...what is happening to me?'_

“But if you must know, there's nothing too special going on tomorrow, but I will be having diner with Marinette's family.”

“Do they typically invite Jewish people over for _Christmas_ dinner?”

“No,” he chuckled, “but for the past couple years, the Dupain-Chengs have had pretty big dinner parties at the Agreste Mansion. Since Adrien and Marinette got engaged, anyway. They usually end up making too much food, so they invite almost everyone from our old class. They uh...” He swished his water glass around, the ice clinked inside, and he took a small sip, but it did nothing to dispel the crimson aura on his cheeks. “They...that is, Marinette said, that if our date tonight went well, I could uh...invite you to dinner tomorrow?”

Chloé froze, her own hand on her water glass. “Are...are you asking me out? I thought you hated me.”

“Back in lycée, yeah, but seeing you so eager to make amends with...” He shrugged. “Spending time with you tonight was...” He sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair, baring both of his eyes to the world. Both of his beautiful, bright teal eyes... _dammit Chloé!_ “I'll admit. When I saw you were my date, I didn't have high hopes for my evening. But, it...hasn't been entirely terrible. And...I wouldn't mind spending more time with you.”

A flutter in her heart. Her plan was coming together perfectly. Get on Nathanaël's good side, use what he knows to befriend Marinette, tear her away from Adrien, everyone goes home happy. Except for the man-thieving baker girl. Not like she deserves happiness anyway. Stealing the spotlight, stealing someone else's love, manipulating people, leaving Chloé all alone? Whoever would do such a thing didn't deserve happiness.

_'Or is that flutter not because of your plan, but because of Natha–'_

Chloé pushed the treacherous thought back down and pulled her phone from her purse. She flicked her fingers across the screen then handed it off to Nathanaël. “Here. Put your number in there. I'll call you if Daddy doesn't have something big up his sleeve.” _'Though if this morning is any indicator, he likely doesn't. But if I have Nath's number? That means I control where our...'relationship' goes.'_

(#)

Chloé tightened the bandages around her hand, already savoring the cooling effects of the aloe, then wrapped her fingers around her ivory hairbrush. She'd already changed into her second favorite pair of pajamas: an orange tank top and white bottoms dotted with fox faces, and with her brush gliding through her hair, she smiled into her vanity mirror and reflected on just how much of a success the day had been.

She hadn't pushed Nathanaël away like in her dream, she was that much closer to her objective, and perhaps if she found just the right dress, they wouldn't even have to change the wedding date.

“...no. Can't seem too eager to be with Adrien. You've waited seven years to get him back, Chloé. You can wait a few more until your wedding.”

A tightness in her chest made her pause. Was...was she starting to feel guilty? Was she starting to regret her decision to ruin Marinette and Adrien's relationship? She shook her head and fixed her intense gaze on her reflection. No. It was just nerves because she still had much to do. Putting a stop to a marriage in less than a week was a tall order, but Chloé Bourgeois wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Her wicked smirk dominated her face and she slowly made her way to her bed. Her head found the familiar dimple in her pillows, her phone found her night stand, and slumber found her still with a smile upon her face.

She was excited for what tomorrow would bring.

When the bells of Notre Dame struck the midnight hour, a bright green wave of light washed across the entire city.


	4. Date 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE!
> 
> At this rate, I might be done by next Christmas...

_Wanna learn how to believe a–_

"Oh my god this fucking song!"

Chloé grabbed up her phone jabbed her finger into the screen to shut off the alarm, then threw it back down on the side table and draped her right hand across her eyes. _'What is with that stupid song? Didn't I change it before going to bed last night? Why did it change back? Why is that song haunting me?_

_'...why can't I feel the bandages on my hand?'_

She lifted her hand away from her face and noticed the bandages were gone. Her hand wasn't even burnt. Then, her gaze trailed down her arm and she saw the red sleeve of her Ladybug pajamas.

...except she went to bed wearing her Volpina pajamas...

She threw her blankets off and stared down at the red silk twisted awkwardly around her torso and legs. She sat upright in bed for nearly five minutes, the silence in her room contrasted by the cacophony between her ears.

 _'No. No. No no no no nonononono! This is insane! This is impossible! I know, I_ know, _I wore my Volpina pajamas. Unless someone snuck into my room and changed my clothes in the middle of the night, I should be...wait...'_

She leapt from the bed and strode over to her suitcases. The clothes she had worn yesterday ( _was it yesterday!?!)_ were clean and neatly folded just as she had packed them. She unzipped her garment bag and pulled out the supposedly hollandaise-stained coat. Not a drop of sauce anywhere on it. She dropped it as though it would bit her and backed away with her hand slapped over her mouth.

“What...what the _fuck_?” She dug her fingers into her hair and paced her room. “What's happening? I, my pajamas, the coat, the, the...” She turned back to her bedside table and dove across her bed, her fingers clamped around her phone and she pulled it to her face. 24/12/22.

Christmas Eve.

_Again._

A few minutes later, a thunderstorm of blonde hair and red silk rolled out of the elevator, growling at the elevator music because _what is that song supposed to mean why is it following me I'll have Daddy ban Gloria Estefan music for the rest of eternity if I hear that song one more fucking time!_ She attempted to compose herself, but there was only so much she could do. No makeup, her hair in complete disarray, strolling through the lobby of a five star hotel in her white coat, her pajamas, and fuzzy red slippers. She spotted her father speaking with the receptionist and barreled towards him, drawing stares in her wake.

These people act like they've never seen a grown woman wearing superhero pajamas before.

“Daddy!” she all but screamed. Just as he nearly jumped out of his shoes so did his eyes almost leap from his skull when he saw his daughter rapidly approaching him looking as though she had just rolled out of bed, which she had.

“Chloé!” he hissed, her eyes darting left and right. “Why aren't you dressed?”

_'Sure, just ignore the fact that your daughter is having a goddam crisis!'_

“Get Ladybug out here, pronto!” She stomped her foot for emphasis. “Some Akuma's targeting me or something!”

Every patron in the lobby flinched at the word 'Akuma'. Though Parisians had become accustomed to the near weekly supervillain attacks, some were still not above panic. Not to mention the number of tourists and family members visiting from out of country who had only heard of Akumas through international news outlets or the Ladyblog.

“It's alright everyone!” André spoke, slipping easily back into politician mode. “There are no Akumas in the hotel! My, er, daughter must have had a bad dream!”

A growl rumbled upwards from Chloé's chest. Not only had he all but called her a liar, but she heard him hesitate. He seemed almost ashamed to claim this raving madwoman with bed head as his flesh and blood.

“It's no dream! I fell asleep yesterday and...” She paused, trying to find the words to describe her predicament. “I fell asleep on Christmas Eve and when I woke up, it was still Christm...” She groaned, her hands waving about. “It's like...have you ever seen that American movie, Groundhog Day?” The look on André's face told her he hadn't. “My friend, Melissa, made me watch it once and it was kinda cheesy, but...” She shook her head. “That's not important. What _is_ important is that this is...this is the second...or maybe third?...time I've woken up on Christmas Eve!” She snapped her fingers, the right words finally falling into place. “A time loop! It's a time loop! I'm living the same day over and over!”

André planted his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. He was attempting to calm her, but Chloé could sense the condescension sparking between them. “Chloé, no Akuma before has ever exhibited time control powers like you describe. Whatever is happening, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for it.”

Chloé wrenched her way out of his grip and stepped away. She glared at him as though personally insulted. “Ladybug will believe me. We're best friends, she'll believe me!” She turned away from him to march back towards the elevators but walked right into another patron in the lobby carrying a cup of coffee. Fortunately, none of the coffee burned her, but dark brown now seeped down the left breast of her coat.

She gawked down at the stain, attempting to compile some sort of enraged rant, but only managed to blurt out some half-hearted syllables that could barely be considered coherent thoughts. This was the second _(third?!?)_ time this coat had been ruined. What was it her literature professor had said? Once is occurrence, twice is coincidence, three times establishes a pattern. Was this coat destined to be ruined no matter how many times she relived this day? No, tomorrow _(today? The next time she relived the loop? Why is this so damn confusing?)_ she would go out of her way to ensure this coat wasn't ruined.

André rested his hands on his daughter's upper arms and guided her back to the elevators with all the subtlety of a fist to the face. “Chloé, dearest, if you promise not to make a scene, I'll get you a new coat. Call, uh, call it a–”

Chloé wrenched herself from his grasp and stepped into the elevator alone. “Yeah, a Christmas present, I know. That's what you said...” Yesterday, she almost said, but that still wasn't quite true. She shook her head. It's not like he believed her. Before the elevator doors could close, she yelled between them, “Just make sure it's not yellow!”

(#)

It was yellow.

Actually, since this was the same day, it was safe to assume this was the same coat. M. Barbiche delivered it to her room with her fathers's apologies. He hadn't been able to find a coat other than this one on such short notice. She didn't care. She rather liked the coat, and decided that once she had broken out of this nightmare, she might buy one herself. The only reason she had requested a non-yellow coat was to test the loop. Just as her white coat was meant to be stained, was she also meant to have this coat?

Now, how was she to contact Ladybug? Did she have a profile on the Ladyblog? If she'd had a Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook, Chloé would have found it by now. So, if Ladybug _did_ have a Ladyblog account, which was it? There was only one person in Paris who would know for certain: Alya. But, seeing as how Chloé didn't have a way of contacting Alya, she would have to make yet another trip to see Alya's best friend, a walk she would probably be able to make blindfolded if she didn't break out of this loop soon.

“Good morning! Welcome to the Dupain-Che...Chloé?”

Yes, Marinette would have a way of contacting Alya, who could then contact Ladybug. If it truly was Hawkmoth tormenting her with this stupid time loop, Ladybug and her team would definitely be able to help. With the five of them on the case, Chloé would be out of this in no time. The sooner the better.

“Good morning, Marinette. Three croissants, please?” Chloé didn't spare a thought to how much easier it was getting to say that.

But then again, getting out of this loop could wait until after breakfast.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” She ducked behind the counter and came up with the bag and tongs again. “So, when did you get ba–”

“Oh! And, um,” Chloé started. Marinette raised her head above the counter and quirked her brow. “Th-three chocolate chip cookies, please? It's, uh...it's that time of the month,” she lied.

“Not a problem.” Marinette smiled then passed the bag with croissants to Chloé before crossing the bakery to another case full of fresh cookies. Chloé almost internally scolded herself for taking advantage of Marinette's generosity, but stopped when she realized that 1: so long as she remained in the time loop, whatever croissants she ate would be...would regenerated be the correct term? Regardless, by Marinette's perspective, this was only happening once, and 2: a few free pastries was a small price to pay for claiming someone else's man.

“Hey, Marinette, you have Alya's number, right?”

Marinette snorted and smiled awkwardly. “I should hope I do; she's my Maid of Honor. Why, you need to talk to her?”

“Well, more I need her to get in touch with Ladybug for me. I think there's an Akuma after me.”

The cookie Marinette had between the tongs snapped in half when she too suddenly tightened her grip. She turned to Chloé, an unusual look on her face. Somehow a cross of intrigue, concern, and suspicion. “Are you sure?”

Chloé huffed and blew at her bangs. “I'm stuck in a time loop. Name something other than an Akuma that could do that.”

“A...time loop?”

“Yeah, this is maybe the third time I've woken up on Christmas Eve.”

“I...I've never heard of an Akuma with time control powers other than Timebreaker, and Alix is fine, last I checked...”

Chloé groaned. “Ugh, you sound just like Daddy! Look, I can prove it. You and Adrien were gonna invite me to lunch at _La Belle Rouge_ , then you two were gonna set me up on a blind date with Nathanaël at _Chartier_.”

Marinette's eyes widened. She glanced at the clock then back to Chloé and dug her phone out of her pocket. “I'll text Alya, have her send word to Ladybug. She'll...she'll want to hear about this.”

A smile found its way onto Chloé's face. “Thank you, Marinette. Finally, someone listening to me.”

“If there really is an Akuma after you, it's probably best if you stay off the streets.” She lowered her phone and locked her intense gaze on Chloé. Something didn't seem right. This wasn't the same timid, sweet, clumsy Marinette from back in lycée. This was someone else. “Go back to the hotel and wait until we can...uh...” Her face reddened. “U-until we...can...h-have Ladybug meet you! Yeah!” There she was. Stuttering Mari.

She rolled her eyes. “Listen, with how things have been going between me and Daddy, I'd rather not go back to the hotel." Marinette opened her mouth to argue, but Chloé held up her hand. “I'll be fine wandering the city for a while. It's not like it's openly attacking me or anything.” She clicked her tongue. “Though I wish it would so I could tell it to go fu–”

The bell above the door rang once more, effectively cutting her off. She clicked her tongue again and turn to push her way past the patrons who had just entered.

“Hey, Chloé!” Marinette called. She turned and the baker offered her a small, sincere smile. “We'll get you help, I promise.”

Chloé responded only with a grunt and left the bakery, her fist tightening around her croissants as she walked. She shouldn't have felt comforted. She shouldn't have felt 'warm and fuzzy' on the inside. This was Marinette. Her rival. No, calling her a rival implied they had some form of equal standing. She was the enemy. She didn't really care about Chloé. The only reason they had invited her to the wedding was to rub it in her face, to formally take away everything that was rightfully hers. But they were fools if they thought a few free snacks and some texts to Alya would soften Chloé's resolve.

Something happened to cause a sudden shift in Chloé 's train of thought, and she went from pondering how to win Adrien back to wondering what would happen if she died in the time loop. Would she simply die and that would be it? Would she awaken on the morning of the 24th as though nothing had happened? If she was 'resurrected' when the day reset, would she remember what the next world looked like?

She also asked herself if it was possible to murder a superhero, all in the few seconds after a rust-haired fox woman dropped to the sidewalk in front of her and made her heart jump up into her throat.

Volpina winced at the brief shriek that clawed its way out of Chloé's mouth. She lifted her hands to the fox ears on top of her head and muttered, “Um, ow?” She also recoiled when Chloé's purse swung repeatedly into her arm.

“Do! Not! Scare! Me! Like! That!” Chloé screeched, each word accompanied by another swing of her purse.

Volpina laughed it off, completely unfazed by the assault, and planted her hands on her hips. “Girl, you need to relax. You're too tense.”

“There's an Akuma after me and you want me to relax?” Chloé snapped her head to the side hard enough to swing her hair into Vopina's face. “I'll relax when Ladybug takes care of it. Speaking of, where is she?”  
“She sent me to pick you up. The team's meeting at the Eiffel Tower to discuss the situation.” The fox woman scooped Chloé up into her arms bridal-style, and giggled at the light yelp that came from the blonde. “Now, hold on.” She waited a few seconds, but when Chloé's hands refused to unclench from the bag of croissants and cookies clutched to her chest, Volpina sighed. “That wasn't a suggestion. Hold. On.” The second Chloé's thin arms linked around Volpina's neck, the heroine crouched and leapt upwards, fanning the ground behind her with her tail.

Much could be said of the varying 'chill' levels of each member of Team Miraculous. Jade Turtle: maximum chill. He was practically made of chill, much to the annoyance of his foxy partner who often opted to rely on her instincts rather than cold logic. Paon had the next highest chill rating at 85% (though when she first became a hero it was more like **.** 85%). Chat liked to think he was chill, but lost every semblance of chillitude whenever Ladybug was threatened. Ladybug's chill levels could swing from Arctic to Saharan in a moment's notice. On the one hand, she presented a level-headed and stoic appearance for the people of Paris. But like her feline partner, she too lost her chill over endangered loved ones.

Then there was Volpina...

Volpina who clung to Ladybug like a parasite when she first received her Miraculous. Volpina who fought (not argued, but literally fought, fists and claws flying) with Alya 'Ladyblogger' Césaire _on camera_ over the title of 'Ladybug's Biggest Fan'. Volpina who nearly lost her mind when a young Italian girl got reakumatized and rampaged across the city in an attempt to ruin the new heroine's reputation. Volpina who wasn't as quick to forgive as her (rumored) turtle boyfriend. Volpina who could hold a grudge. Volpina who had been woken up too damn early after a long night of trying to coordinate flower arrangements and catering for her best friend's wedding to once again clean up a mess Chloé Bourgeois had made.

Suffice to say, Volpina had no chill.

And it showed in the way she carried Chloé across the city. While she made sure no harm came to her cargo, she still relished how every leap, every flip, every tumble she took summoned a small squeak of terror from the girl in her arms. And though the Eiffel Tower was just minutes away, that was all it took to make Chloé's heart hammer in her chest, her throat raw from screaming, and her hair...

Chat was already waiting at the tower's vacant observation deck when Volpina landed with a frightened and disheveled girl in her arms clawing her way towards solid ground. He turned to greet them but clapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a stream of laughter. Chloé didn't need to guess what he was laughing at; she could feel her hair partially pulled from its ties, most of it flopping in front of her face. She dug a small mirror out of her purse, strode over to Chat Noir, and shoved it into his claws.

“Here, make yourself useful, furball.” He seemed only mildly offended, but relented to hold the mirror while she fixed her hair. The two heroes rolled their eyes, but still smirked. “So, where's Ladybug?”

“My Lady texted me, said she was having trouble getting off of work early. She'll be here soon enough.”

Chloé grunted. “I wish she'd hurry up. I'd rather not spend more time in this stupid time loop than I have to.”

“You make it sound like our normal lives are such an inconvenience for you.”

Chloé turned her eyes upwards, her hair still pulled back in her hands, and her guts boiled at the sight of Paon sitting on a beam above them, lightly kicking her legs.

“Okay, just who the hell are you?” Chloé demanded.

Paon chuckled lightly and dropped to the deck between her and Volpina. “Sorry, but that's not how secret identities work.”

“You know me, don't you? _I_ know _you_.” Chloé resecured her hair and faced the peacock heroine. “So, who are you and why are you acting like I've personally offended you?”

“Uh, you're the one being hostile towards me. As far as I know, we've never spoken before today.” She shrugged. “Unless this whole time loop nonsense is true, which means you're talking about what an alternate timeline me said to you.”/

Chloé opened her mouth to argue, but her scowl morphed upwards into a grin when Ladybug swung upwards and landed before her. “Sorry I'm late, I stopped to che _glack!”_ She stumbled backwards as an overenthusiastic blonde latched around her middle in a rib-crunching hug. And no, it wasn't the cat.

“Ladybug! Oh, it's _so_ good to see you after so long! How have you been all thi–”

Ladybug planted a hand on Chloé's head and lightly pushed her away. “We don't really have time to get...reacquainted if there's an Akuma after you.”

“Yeah, what's up with that?” Volpina crossed her arms. “All I got was some vague text about Chloé staring in Groundhog Day.”

“Wait, _What_ Day?” Chat asked.

“It's an old American movie,” Chloé huffed. “It's a comedy about a guy who lives the same day over and over for, like, ten thousand years.”

“No, that was just a rumor,” Volpina countered. “It was actually eight years, eight months, and...” She slowed when she realized everyone was looking at her with confused, incredulous, and surprised looks on their faces. “What? N–uh, Jade went on a Harold Ramis binge a few years ago and made me sit through it. I don't know what was more boring: the movies or the random trivia I can't get out of my head.”

“What?” Paon balked. “Those movies are classics! Stripes, Caddyshack–” she closed her eyes and groaned “– _Ghostbusters!”_

Volpina sneered. “Yeah, kinda lost my taste for Ghostbusters after he tried calling me 'The Gatekeeper' during se–”

“Uh, hello!” Chloé waved her arms. “Aren't we forgetting something?”

“Chloé's right,” Ladybug scolded. “We have work to do. But now that I think about it,” she popped open her yoyo and tapped a few buttons in its screen. “Where _is_ Jade? I haven't heard from him since day before yesterday.”

“Oh! Uh,” Paon stepped forward and raised her hand. “Remember that... _special project_ I told you about maybe...a year ago?”

Chat's feline ears perked up. “That was today?”

“How long will he be gone?” Volpina asked.

“Don't worry, Volpi,” Paon winked at the fox. “You'll have your 'Keymaster' back tomorrow morning.”

Chat snickered, as did Ladybug, still flicking through her yoyo, but Volpina only groaned, “Oh, fuck you.”

Chloé's laughter forced itself above all other noise. “Haha, that's so _funny_! You know what else is funny?” He smile dropped and she glared at Paon. “Being in this time travel hell with the lot of you fucking around instead of helping me!”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “I _am_ helping, Chloé. I checked in on Alix Kubdel before coming up here to see if she's been akumatized again. She's fine, so now I'm checking Ladyblog feeds and Alya's Akuma Alert System for any reports.” She snapped her yoyo shut. “Nothing so far. Seems our only option is to scour the city looking for Akuma activity.”

“I can check news reports for anyone else acting out of the ordinary,” Volpina said. “That way we can see if the problem is widespread or just focused on Chloé.”

“I'll interview _Le Grand Paris_ staff,” Paon added. “Maybe Chloé insulted someone last night and just doesn't remember.”

“Uh, ex _cuse_ you!”

“And _I_ ,” Chat purred, sidling up beside Chloé and slipping an arm about her waist, “shall get Mlle. Bourgeois to the ground, then join my Lady in her search.”

“Finally, we're getting something done!” Chloé griped, ignoring the black leather arm encircling her and how Paon muttered 'what do you mean _we'_ under her breath. “The quicker I get out of this time loop, the quicker I can put a stop to this stupid wedding.”

Ladybug paused with her arm cocked back, yoyo in hand, and slowly turned to face Chloé, a look of confusion and possibly anger on her face. “Wedding? What...what wedding?”

“My Adrikins is marrying that Dupain-in-my-ass next week and–”

“Whoa, whoa,” Ladybug held up her hands and took a few steps closer to Chloé. “You're telling me that the only reason you came back to Paris...” Her eyelids and teeth gnashed together. “Was to disrupt my...my friend Marinette's wedding?”

“Well, yeah,” Chloé scoffed, ignorant to how all four heroes were glaring at her. “It's obvious Adrien belongs with–”

“I...” Ladybug started. “I can't...I can't _fucking believe you!”_

Chloé's eyes widened at her hero's outburst. “Ladybu–”

“And after Marinette went through the trouble of inviting you! This is how you repay her kindness?”

“I _told_ her not to do it,” Volpina growled.

“Kindness?” Chloé shrieked. “Kindness isn't taking what isn't yours! Kindness isn't tricking someone into loving you when he obviously doesn't know what he wants!”

“Maybe Adrien _does_ know what he wants!” Chat jumped in, his green eyes blazing. “Maybe Adrien chose Marinette because he loves her and wants you to accept that!”

“Ugh, not you too!”

“I-I just-I can't!” Ladybug stuttered. She jumped up into the railing and spun on her heels to face Chloé. “You haven't changed one...one _goddamn bit!_ You're still the same self-centered, entitled _...bitch–_ ” she spat “ _–_ you were when you left Paris!”

Chloe's face fell. Bitch? Did Ladybug, heroine of Paris and idol of millions, just call Chloé Bourgeois a... _bitch?_ There was no way. Ladybug adored Chloé. Her biggest fan. This had to be the Akuma's doing. It wasn't just the time loop, it had thrown Chloé into her worst nightmare: Adrien marrying Marinette, Ladybug betraying their friendship, and forcing her to endure the same tedious day over and over!

Ladybug dropped her yoyo and spun it about by its cord. “You know what? I'm not helping you. I'm _done_ helping you. You can just sit and rot in this time loop for a...” She paused, then sighed. “The most disgusting part is, if you really are in a time loop, you'll wake up with another chance to live this day, and I won't remember a damn bit of this.” She dropped off the edge and Chloé heard the whistle of her yoyo wire as she disappeared into the distance. Volpina left right on her heels, throwing what sounded like a low bark over her shoulder, and Chat vaulted off the edge of the platform without another word.

Chloé stood in silence for a few seconds, trying to process what had just happened. How could Ladybug be upset over this? It was just Marinette. It wasn't like she was trying to ruin _Ladybug's_ wedding. Besides, Ladybug should have more class than to have someone like Marinette as a friend. But for all of Chloe's efforts to try and rationalize the situation, it still hurt. It stung to think that was what Ladybug actually thought of her. A selfish, entitled bitch.

“You know,” came a voice to her left. Oh, right. Paon was still there. That was exactly what Chloé needed in her current mood. “The only reason you cling to Adrien is because he's the only reminder of your 'normal' childhood you have left.”

Her words slammed into Chloé's gut like a hammer. Her lips flapped for a few seconds but only managed a few half-choked and sputtered syllables. Then, she snarled, “W-what do _you_ know of my childhood?”

Her response came without hesitation. “I know Miranda Bourgeois died when you were young. I know Felice Agreste was like a second mother to you until shedisappeared. I know you were all Adrien had, and he was all you had. I think the reason you hate Marinette so much is because it kills you to think she stole away the last thing in your life you feel is truly 'yours'.” She turned to Chloé and fixed her with a gaze the blonde had come to hate, especially in the aftermath of her mother's passing.

“I...I don't need your pity, you stupid bird.” Chloé couldn't think of anything else to say. She couldn't argue the point. Paon was right; Adrien was all she had left. Both André and Gabriel had poured themselves into their work after they lost their wives, leaving their children to console each other. He was the only thing that made Chloé feel like everything was going to be okay. That was why Chloé had pressured Adrien into attending school with her. That was why she clung to him, why she... _needed_ him.

“What you need to do is let go, Chloé,” Paon said, as though reading the girl's mind. “You think the past will make you happy, but all it's doing is blinding you to what's right in front of you, what you could have in the future. Friendship, peace of mind, love.”

Chloé tightened her fist around the bag still in her hands, the croissants flattened and the cookies crumbs by now, but she didn't care. All she cared about was getting back her sense of normalcy. All she cared about was biting back the tears burning her eyes. “I can get all of that if I can have Adrien. I can get all of that if I can get out of this fucking time loop. You talk about my future?” Chloé shut her eyes, barely restrained her sobs, because somewhere in her heart, she knew Paon was right. “Adrien _is_ my future! He's the only future I want! The only future I _need_!” She felt a gentle hand fall on her shoulder and snapped her eyes open only to witness a look of pity behind the cerulean mask. The same look that turned her stomach when her mother died, just as it did now.

She whipped her arm around to throw off Paon's hand and sent the bag containing her breakfast skidding across the platform. She brought her palm across the heroine's cheek just before she screamed, “Stop looking at me like that! I told you, I don't need your... _your goddamn pity!”_

Paon should have worn a look of surprise but her face was calm, as though she had expected the slap. She sighed and pulled her fans from her belt, her boots clacking against the metal platform as she made her way to the railing. “Whether or not this loop is an Akuma's doing, you've been given a rare chance to truly reflect on and explore your life with minimal consequences. I suggest you take it. Who knows?” She cast a tentative smile over her shoulder. “Maybe figuring out what's really important in your life will get you out of the loop, like Phil Connors.”

“Yeah,” Chloé grumbled. “And in the meantime, I'll take up piano, ice sculpture, and drive myself and a rodent off a cliff.” The smile faded slightly, almost giving way to that infuriating look of pity again, put Paon swallowed it down and dove over the platform's edge, leaving Chloé to stew in her thoughts.

And stew she did as she rode the elevators back down to the ground. Everything was going wrong. There was no telling how long she'd be in this loop, whether or not he would lose her mind before this was all over. Ladybug was supposed to help her out of this mess, but she chose pathetic little Marinette over her biggest fan. She bit down on the inside of her cheek an stared out at the city slowly rising around her. At least Ladybug had one thing right: tomorrow (today?) no one would remember what she'd done. That gave her, in theory, infinite time to work on her plan to get Adrien back.

_...let go, Chloé..._

She shook Paon's words from her mind and stepped from the elevator, into the cold morning air. She shut her eyes, shut out the world around her, the only sounds in her ears the dull roar of the tourist crowd and the click of her boots on the sidewalk. She wouldn't let go. Adrien needed her. She needed him. It was that simple, and she wasn't about to let anyone stop her from getting what she wanted. Not Marinette, not Ladybug, not Paon...

And certainly not whoever had dared to bump into her and knock her to the ground. A tangle of limps, the clatter of something that sounded like wood, and the splash of something against her legs.

The scent of coffee wafted into her nostrils and her eyes found a deep, rich, _(And cold! Why was it so cold?)_ brown stain sloshed across her white leggings. “Oh my _god!”_ she screamed, oblivious to just how many gazes she drew. “I do _not_ need this right now! Whoever you are, you better...”

All rage left her when she caught sight of bright red hair across from her. An easel and a few dirty brushes lay on the ground, scattered from their wooden carrying case (the clatter she'd heard earlier). The young man across from her had a small canvas clutched at his side, focusing more on keeping it off of the ground than his own safety. When he sat up and his eyes met hers, recognition lit up his face.

“...Ch-Chloé?”

“...Nathanaël...”

They sat in silence for a few seconds until his eyes dropped to her legs. She unconsciously pulled her legs away from him, but when she realized he was looking less at her legs and more at her stained leggings, she found herself unusually disappointed. Because why wouldn't he want to check her out? She was a beautiful, sexy woman. Desirable not just because of her looks but her station as the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Paris. An eligible bachelorette who...

 _'Wait,_ eligible _? No! I'm...my heart's set on Adrien! There is no way this poor, starving artist with an outdated hairstyle, paint-stained hands...beautiful eyes, a warm smile..,'_ He was already on his feet, trying to collect his paintbrushes with his back turned to Chloé. _'...a cute butt...'_

“I am so sorry, Chlo.” He stood, turned, and stretched his hand out to her. “I wasn't watching where I was going, I was–”

“No, no,” she assured him. “It's...it's okay.” She accepted his hand and ignored his look of surprise, likely because she didn't complain about how her leggings were ruined. But what she couldn't ignore was how the small nickname he'd used brought heat to her cheeks. Why was she this flustered around him? She hoped he'd blame the redness on the chilly wind.

“Are...are you sure?” He raised his brow and leaned over in an attempt to meet her eye. She looked up into his eyes and felt a flutter in her chest.

_...blinding you to what's right in front of you..._

Her rage returned, but not at Nathanaël or her ruined clothing (at least until the loop starts over), but at Paon. What did she know? Okay, maybe Nathanaël was good looking, but he wasn't what she wanted...

...right?

“I can buy you new leggings, if you want.”

Chloé forced the rage and confusion from her mind, trying to cover it up the only way she knew how: sass and snark. “Oh, please. Like you could afford anything I would wear.”

“Actually,” he smiled, summoning more butterflies to Chloé's stomach, “you'd be surprised. Between commissions and private contract work, I'm living quite comfortably. So, I can, and _will,_ replace your leggings.”

Between his forceful tone and his demanding gaze (and the fact that the money would be back in his pocket when the loop reset), Chloé found it impossible to argue. He even insisted on purchasing the exact brand he'd ruined, though they cost €150. Why though? Why go through the trouble of helping her even though he should hate her? Wait, didn't he say something about not hating her anymore yesterday? (The previous loop? Whatever the hell it was?) Was it his change of heart that was making her act this way? Blushing, swooning, her heart aflutter like some lovestruck idiot? Chloé had never believed in 'love at first sight', so why was she melting inside over his smile and his eyes?

After she changed into her new leggings in a public restroom, quite possibly the most uncomfortable and embarrassing few moments of her life, he offered to buy her coffee and even to treat her to dinner as an apology. It seemed Marinette had texted him not long after Chloé's meeting with Ladybug and told him that his blind date that night had 'flaked'. Ladybug must have gotten to her and told her all about Chloé's plans. Thankfully, Marinette hadn't told Nathanaël _why_ his date was canceled. which meant Chloé would still get to spend the evening with him and...

Chloé had spent most of her day back in the hotel, essentially wasting time and taking a nap until her date with Nathanaël. She didn't feel like wandering the streets and causing another Akuma. Even though Ladybug would forget this day even happened tonight, Chloé didn't want to face the heroine's wrath any further. There was also no one she felt like speaking to or visiting. It wasn't like she maintained contact with her friends ( _friend,_ the ghost of the first day reminded her) when she left for America. Talking with Melissa was out of the question. It was still early morning back in California.

But when she was getting ready for the date, electing to wear the same dress she'd worn on the first two dates, her excitement made her pause. Was she really that excited to go on a date with Nathanaël again? Could someone be excited to see someone after only two dates? Two days of being reunited after years of being apart when even before that they had nothing in common? Even quite possibly hated each other?

No, no. She swallowed down these unwanted emotions and refocused on preparing for her date. No, 'date'. It wasn't an actual _date_ date, this was... a 'get dirt on your romantic rival' date. A reconnaissance mission. This...this was just another chance to get information on Marinette. All she had to do was ask the right questions and be a little more tactful in getting Nathanaël on her side. Then...she could have Adrien.

And through the whole evening, Chloé fought to keep that mission at the forefront of her mind. When she met Nathanaël outside Chartier at 8 o'clock that night, she told herself it was just an act.

When he took her coat, escorted her to their table, and made another suggestion when she said she'd (technically) tried the duck _confit_ already, she told herself it was just an act.

While they spent hours talking about Nathanael's commissions for portraits at the Miraculous hero wing at the Louvre, laughing at old stories from lycée, and smiling through the good food, the (surprisingly) good wine, and the (even more surprising) good company, she told herself it was just an act.

By the time dessert rolled out of the kitchen, fresh crème brûlée, Chloé had convinced herself that Nathanaël meant nothing to her. That she was just using him, and the only reason she was so friendly with him was because she needed him...

... _f-for information!_

“You know, Chlo,” he said, cracking the sugar crust on his dessert with his spoon, “I never would have imagined I'd have such a good time with you.”

“Me either,” she smiled. _'Yes, that's it. Use this time loop to figure him out. Figure out how to gain his friendship, gain his trust. That way, when you find your way out of this hell, you'll be that much closer to winning Adrien back.'_

But he'd called her 'Chlo' again. Throughout the whole night, she'd succeeded in keeping her emotions in check, succeeded in focusing on why she was in Paris, but that name. That single nickname broke a damn inside her, and that warm fluttering in her heart returned. No, it was because Adrien called her that when they were kids. That was it. He was just reminding her of Adrien.

“I've been having a good time too,” she confessed. He seemed surprised by her response, but not nearly as surprised as Chloé herself. _Because she meant it._ She _was_ having a good time. She _was_ enjoying his company, had the entire night, but had refused to admit it.

Granted, that didn't have to mean anything. She could enjoy his company and not feel any sort of attachment to him. It's not like she was...falling for him...

_...blinding you to what's right in front of you..._

_'Oh, shut up you stupid bird!'_

She struggled the entire time, but managed to get through the dinner date and now sat on her balcony with her sixth glass of red wine pinched between her fingers. Was she trying to drink away what Paon said to her? Was she trying to drink away what _Ladybug_ said to her? Was she trying to drink away the confusing emotions she felt directed at Nathanaël when it should be Adrien making her stomach do flips and her heart soar? Or had she simply decided to sample the most expensive bottle of wine the hotel had to offer knowing that it would likely be back in the wine cellar come morning?

...was 'all of the above' an option?

However, in her alcohol-fueled haze, she came to a revelation: both times she'd been sent back to the beginning of the day, she'd been asleep. Or unconscious at the very least. She lifted her hand to the back of her head again, still curious as to what really happened that first day. But it wouldn't matter for long, because all she had to do was stay awake and confront whatever had captured her in the loop.

“Yeah, thatsh all I hafta do,” she slurred in a half whisper. “Jush shtay awake and get outta thish hell.” She lifted her glass in a toast to no one in particular. “Then 'drien and me can make _byoootiful_ blonde babies together.” Another sip. “And that Mar'nette can suck me. And so can Panon...Pamon...Pow...Pa......bitch.”

She pressed a hand to her temple when Notre Dame tolled the midnight hour. Well, here it was. The moment of truth. She stood and stumbled over to the railing, ready to swear and sling her wine at whatever Akuma or monster came at her to continue ruining her life. But at the seventh call of the bells, she got neither. What she did get was a wave of green light, reminiscent of the Aurora Borealis, steadily approaching the hotel.

“What the...?” She leaned out over the railing and squinted, trying to see if anyone or anything was inside the light. It loomed ever closer, mere meters from passing over her. “What the hell is tha


End file.
